


Forbidden In Oz

by UnholyHelbig



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies), The Wizard Of Oz (1939)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wizard of Oz Fusion, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-05-28 10:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15047006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: After sending her daughter to a new world for protection, Glinda the good must contact a bounty hunter to protect the one she loves most in a world that's as close to Kansas as you can get.(A modern-day Wizard of Oz fusion)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is something that's been in my mind forever. As of right now, there is only one chapter of it that I've written. But the whole entire thing is planned out. I'll continue it if that's what people want, but It's a little confusing and hasn't gotten the best response so far so jury is still out! ~ S.

**Her touch was**  strong against the man's chest- forearm strung across the broad object as his toxic breath filled her lungs. After all these years that same mix of alcohol and soiled beef was enough to make her stomach churn. It did flips and threatened to ruin her own composure, but she still held calm. Held everything steady.

The blade was close enough to his sweat brined skin that it could cut slight follicles of hair. And this man, this man needed a shave. He needed a wash too, but that wasn't Beca's job to decide. Her job was to toy with the character- to keep the pointed edge so close that it could slice through skin- but not close enough to kill him.

"Get the hell off me," He hissed through clenched yellow teeth. His put all of his weight on his chest- trying to push forward. The small brunette gave him no lead way, slamming his spine back against the stone clad wall.

Beca cocked her head to the side, a bit of mousy hair falling into her midnight stare. It showed no mercy- not in her immediate gaze, or the deeper one that followed close behind. She didn't say a word, adjusting her position so it was tighter against him. It wasn't her job to speak- not at this moment, or the ones before this.

"She really can't fight her own battles?" the man tried, barking out a crackling laugh. It made the young hunter cringe. "She sends some orphan lacky to do all of her dirty work."

Orphan.

That was such a crude word, but not an unfit one. Beca East Mitchell had no mother to comb through her hair or a father that would instruct her on how to draw a double-edged sword. Instead, she had Elphaba. The beautiful woman who appeared by her malnourished side one day when she was just the mere age of eight.

Many people would have deemed the young girl as feral at this point- both of her parents never having much stock in her life. The human had raised herself at the base of Mitchell Cavern until the woman who had housed her stumbled upon the lost child.

"I am no orphan." She snarled.

"Ah, so she does speak." He flashed his inky grin once more. "Who taught you that?"

"You seem to forget who holds the blade in this situation Mr. Bolger." Beca proclaimed dryly. This seemed to shut him up- he swallowed thickly enough to push his throat deeper into the pain, making him wince against her touch.

She stared him down for a few more seconds, eyes tracing the tired lines of his features. He looked worn down, a drunk at best. She wasn't too sure what he had done to cross her superior, but she was never one to ask questions.

Beca did the job and got paid for it. Not everyone could do what she was capable of, and it made the girl worth something. Worth enough to afford to live just outside of Oz. A commission of sorts.

In one swift movement, she drew back the hand with the silver edged knife- her actions were fluid and precise (Just like they always were). Beca dug the tip of silver into the bark right beside the man's head- above his shoulder as to only clip his clothing and hold the yellowed paper in its place- the same paper that was written in green glowing ink so potent that it could be considered luminescent.

The man flinched, depriving the world of his slate grey eyes as he raised his shoulders- waiting for an impact that would never come. The knife so wedged into the bark that it would take real effort to pry it from the tree's clutches.

"You've been summoned." She took a step back, taking her full weight off the man she knew wouldn't follow her. "You don't deny a witch her rights."

Even he couldn't argue that his mouth agape as his fingers curled around the blade. It almost made Beca ache to think she would leave it behind with a flimsy piece of paper. At the end of the day, the ink was more expensive than the weapon. She could get a new one, but that parchment had bound Mr. Bolger to his commitments.

"And if I don't?" His words broke a far cry from his attempt to stay calm.

"Well," She cracked a dark smile "Then next time, I won't miss."

Beca Mitchell didn't ever stay long after she spoke to her mark. It complicated things- it was never for dramatic effect, or for her own pleasure. She had learned early in life not to question anything and do as she was told. To follow the rules in an emerald city that shone sharply. Hidden dangers were around every corner, and it was easier for her to depart from the area after a confrontation. It was always easier.

She shoved her hands in her pockets, eyes always glancing around this part of the forest. It was dark- the yellowed road having overgrown with Boston ivy cascading across deep golden brick. There were cracks- it wasn't pretty like it had been months ago, months before the accident and the pain that ripped through Oz like an ax against tension.

Her eyes wandered against the large oak trees that were almost completely swallowed by the hollow edges of shadows. Each time a warm breeze swept through its clutches the bare limbs would grind together like dry bones- creaking and shifting under the breezes influences. Grains of poison oak wicked it's way into the edges of the path- those who were smart never walked along it.

They would stick to the brushes- because at least they knew that the trees were just trees, and plants had no ill intentions. Those who walked close to the shone path had a death wish, strolling into their own demise. Even Beca would keep a firm grip on her sword when she got to a certain part in the dark land.

Her breath was shallow as she kept her attention elsewhere. It became very apparent to her that she was one of the reason's no one strode through the forest. Not in this part of the land. Only those with nothing better to do than gamble at Rossen's or try their luck against the Eastern royalty. As she walked, she thought.

"If you wish to follow me, you'll have to be a bit quieter." She stated fairly, loud enough to deplete the dark feeling in her stomach. Her combat boots slowed to a stop, no longer playing fair with the silence of the land. "It's quite hard to think when you're that loud."

"I hadn't said a word." The female's voice was light and airy. Beca had been told that just the sound of her words was enough to quell up a feeling of lost love, a warmth having regretfully filled the hunter herself. She swallowed thickly, clenching her eyes shut before she turned her back to the direction that she was working towards.

Glinda North Beale was a gorgeous woman; one so strong and sure of her stance that she would dare enter her sisters land without anything other than a pistol belted to her hip. A black cloak was covering most of her broad shoulders- peaks of coppery locks falling from the hooded fabric that covered her. Her eyes shown almost as bright as the sky that hovered over her sector. "You're very perceptive, Beca."

"That's what they tell me." She shot back, eyes raking over the woman. She had never seen her in person- only pictures, and from word of mouth. Elphaba was quite biased towards her older sibling, painting a terrible picture in her beta's mind. "I suggest you tell me the reason you're tailing me before they get word of your presence."

"A woman who gets to the point," Glinda said through the silence, taking a few steps towards the younger girl. "I like that."

Beca just lifted her chin, her thumb tracing little circles on the edge of her iron sword. The witch could tell she was on edge- it wasn't like the blade she had wasted back there- this one was hard at hiding discontent.

"El spoke to you the other month," She said while she held Beca's focus. "About driving a blade through my daughter's heart as some act of ramped revenge."

Beca simply nodded, not too fond of the conversation. She carried the same disposition when Elphaba had approached her with the pension for revenge that day in the corridor. She wouldn't hear any of it- it wasn't a normal job, it wasn't something she could prophet from, or felt comfortable doing. She didn't question how the redhead knew of this, witches had their ways.

"You turned her down." It wasn't a question, but a statement the woman beginning to circle Beca like prey. She kept a steady blue stare on her. "Why?"

"It's not my place." The younger woman grumbled, making a move to continue on her way "Nor is the conversation, so if you'll excuse me-"

She stiffened as a cold hand wrapped around her upper arm, it made her freeze, the gentle aspect of the contact was enough to make her stomach churn. She could feel the heartache and intention in Glinda's attempts. "I had to protect my daughter, you understand?"

Her pleading eyes were boring into Beca's, watery and strong. Beca parted her lips slightly. "What did you do?" It was barely a whisper.

"I sent her away." She pulled back, strong in her stature as she stared down the woman in front of her; confusion thick on her expression. "To a world where your mentor cannot harm her unless she ventures there herself."

"Kansas?" Beca said, not having heard that word in a long time.

"Like Kansas, yes." Glinda nodded sullenly. "She should be safe there, but I do not trust that she can do it alone. Face that world with those people."

Beca lifted her chin slightly at the words, she had a dark feeling that she knew where this was going. In any other situation, Glinda would have drawn that pistol and placed a thick inch of lead between her eyebrows by now in a swift act of revenge. Revenge for even thinking of harming her child.

"You want me to go after her?" She said in a bit of a laugh "My place is here."

"And what place is that exactly?" Glinda stood up straight, the hood falling back to reveal more of her deep locks, they framed her face, made her look innocent and exhausted. "You know what they call you, Beca?"

She swallowed, not answering. They called her a lot of things, none of which she had heard past the mouths of those cursing her name.

" _captivum ad orientalem,_  Beca. The prisoner of the East." Her words were dark and cut like the very sword that hung at her side. It made the shorter of the two grimace. She had never thought of herself a prisoner or a captive. She was just repaying the woman who had rescued her from a life that would end in her demise. She had grown unfair over the years, unruly and power hungry.

"If you do this for me- "Glinda was practically begging now, barely able to stay up on her own two feet as water collected at her edge, Beca wasn't heartless, she supported the woman letting her dig her nails into her forearm and claw as at the pitch button-down that she wore. "I can promise you that you will not return to her wrath. You will not return to a life such as this."

She drew in a careful breath, cocking an eyebrow at the strange woman. Part of her wondered if this was a test, a way to show her loyalty to the one who had rescued her. She was never good at tests and even worse at receiving the punishments. The sincerity of the sobbing woman in front of her caught her off guard.

Glinda was pulling her down to her knees, collapsing in a pile of silken fabric as she held Beca' close, the hunter squatting as the ignored the pain that wracked through her abdomen at the belt pushing into tender flesh.

"She won't face it alone." Her dark eyes raising to meet Beca's "I can't let her."

With as light inhale Beca flashed her gaze to the direction she was headed. Back to a lonely old house with one candle that provided a warm and familiar glow. It was familiar. All of it- a routine that her body had grown used to her mind numb. She had no idea who she was working for anymore, no idea who she pledged her sanity to.

"I'll do it." She whispered, not purely confident in her words.

"You will?" Glinda sounded so broken, so sad. Beca nodded simply, biting back the sour taste in her mouth as the crying woman flashed a bit of concern against her features. "I'm so glad you see things my way because this might hurt a bit."

"I'm sorry?" Beca pulled back, knitting her eyebrows together, she still clung tightly to the hunter, not saying a word as she pulled the woman's forearm towards her, facing soft skin towards a non-existent sun.

"You must forgive me," Glinda spoke with precision, voice shaking slightly as she hovered a perfectly manicured hand over Beca's arm. "But once you get to their world you won't remember who you are.  _But you will."_

She didn't say a word as thick bite moves through her skin, worse than the clutches of fire- so cold it almost burned. Beca flinched- her bodies natural reaction to sharp pain and suffering. She gasped, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth despite nothing being shed. The young girl had to swallow a groan of agony as tears flooded Glinda's vision once more.

"What the hell are you-Fuck!" She shouted crumbling to the ground herself as she dug her free hand into the bricked surface, letting paint catch under her nails. Her vision was blurry and spotted as she tried to blink back the sting.

"I'm sorry young one," She heard Glinda whisper soothingly, "You'll understand soon enough."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of an introduction! I've finally gotten around to writing the second chapter, so please let me know what you think!

**She kept the** water hot, almost like it would kill more germs. The higher the temperature, the less likely she was to fall under the mercy of some random sickness passed through leftover mush on patron’s plates. It made the lemon antiseptic cut cleaner, all of it carrying an almost therapeutic burn.

Beca dipped her hands under the frothy water, reaching blindly against the smooth metal sink. She knew there was nothing lurking under the surface, no sharp pointed knives that could slice into flesh- no green-eyed monster just hissing with its predatory gaze. Instead, there were just piles of dishes, waiting to be wiped clean.

The tiny brunette didn’t’ hate her job. It was steady work, and she barely had to wander into the actual diner. She could zone out as she pleased, her mind never going to anything in specific. She didn’t dwindle on the history quiz that she had the next day or the fact that her foster mother would most likely be upset at the sopping wet mess she came home as. None of her shirts stood up to the test of time- not with her after school job.

Steam coated the inside of her throat, sore and worn out from the winters edge. She rolled her shoulders back, muscles taut with tension. It had been a slow day at the hole-in-the-wall establishment. Well, every single day was slow, but the time started to tick by in an aged manner. It was almost as if the little hand was stuck in molasses. An hour to go. _Two thirty-minute intervals._ She told herself, a bit sourly. 

“Rebecca!” Charlie called out.

Charlie was a gruff man, one that usually dawned a white t-shirt that was yellowed under his arms. Grease would coat the apron that was tied at his waist, a thick head of hair was starting to thin at the edges. He was an honest person, one that paid minimum wage, and had a sharp way about him. She could tell within five minutes of meeting him that this was his dream. The place he was meant to be- the place he was happiest.

“Yeah, C?” She called back, not bothering to look up from the foamy mess in front of her, the bubbles reaching up to her elbows at this point. She barely batted away the white mess that tickled at her skin.

He leaned into the kitchen, arms draping over the silver counter. “I promise to let you leave early if you get your nescience of a brother to take his hamburger _to go._ _”_

She bit back some ghost of a smirk, midnight eyes flashing just above Charlie’s broad shoulder. The diner was a small establishment with staggered floors and red leather boots- a 50’s car hop that was equipped with good burgers and greasy fries.

Jesse had draped himself along the back of the booth closest to the double doors. The “Open” sign shaded his face in a ghostly purple, flecks of snow crystalizing upon a scruffy mop of hair that he always neglected to comb into style. He was smiling widely, talking to a girl who had just started last week. She smiled at his antics, even genuinely laughing. Beca wasn’t sure if it had something to do with her still being on the clock or not, dragging a wet cloth along a table Beca had just cleared.

The dishwasher flashed her stare towards the stacks of dishes that were piled to her right, a brow lifted. Charlie wasn’t that much of a good sport, but something told her she was better off accepting his offer. Then maybe she could change into clothes that weren’t sopping wet.

“Consider it done,” She scoffed, reaching behind her as she easily untied the damp knot that held her apron up. He gave her a relieved glance before tapping his tanned fingers against the counter and shoving away from the window. It gave her a better view of her brother who was still trying to haphazardly get her coworkers number.

Jesse wasn’t a bad guy, a little overbearing if anything. The whole family was, really; Beca had learned quickly that Melinda and Todd Swanson were the types of people that made a playlist for everything and sang along during family road trips. They packed lunches every morning with little notes inside and hugged before anyone left the house (Sometimes even _twice_ ).

The Swanson’s adopted Beca Mitchell when she was in kindergarten. She had only been told stories about the dark and abusive childhood that she had- and all of her was thankful that she was too young and naive to recall the reason she was put into the Foster System in the first place.

She drew in a careful breath, taking a step away from the sinks as she moved into the breakroom. It was tiny and smelled too much like rainwater- but there was a small set of lockers and an area that she could hide behind enough to peel off the wet shirt that hugged her frame and slide on a dry one that didn’t’ have Mac & Cheese stains against the collar.

Beca winched as she lifted the garment over her head and replaced it with a plain black t-shirt. Usually, she wouldn’t even bother with changing, but it was December, and that meant snow and ice in their small little town of Shadyside. She pulled on a dark fleece jacket over her shoulder as she shrugged into it.

The diner left a burnt smell in her lungs as she strode through the kitchen with ease, warily missing a few gazes from the cooks as she grasped onto the white grease-stained bag that contained Jesse’s order. He didn’t exactly _need_ to pick her up, but her foster parents didn’t want her driving in the blizzard.

The motorcycle was hard enough for her mother to stomach. Beca had to swear to a helmet at all times, and when things got really bad weather wise, she had to succumb to letting Jesse pick her up in his beat-up old truck.

He got a sour look on his face the second he saw the to-go order, but let it slip from his features when Beca shoved the bag into his grabby hands. He still wore the smirk that she supposed could be charming in certain lights. Her feet were aching, and her attention span wanted to focus on one thing- getting the keys to the car.

“I didn’t order this to go,” He jabbed her side with his elbow.

“You did now, hot-shot.” Her eyes had a playful gleam in them “Besides, you’re distracting Jessica.”

She giggled, a sound that was ultimately charming. It made Jesse’s cheeks heat up as she snagged a napkin from the little metal holder at the end of the table. The waitress pulled the pen from her own apron out as she scribbled something down on the thin paper, somehow not ripping it.

“Call me sometime if you want to grab a bite.” She thrust the object in his direction, his mouth slightly agape. “I’m up for anything but here.”

“Wise choice,” Beca mumbled under her breath, earning a jarring look from her brother as he resisted shoving his elbow into her ribcage once more. Instead, he graciously took the napkin and blubbered through some form of a goodbye.

The cold air bit at their fingertips almost immediately, the taller of the two clutched his prize in his palm as he started to do a little dance the second the door closed, struggling to stay mostly upright in the icy parking lot. “Did you see that Bec’s?! Technically I have more game with the ladies than you do now.”

She scoffed loudly at this, but still, grasped onto the sleeve of his aviator jacket as he lost his footing a bit on the slick pavement. He seemed unphased, a smirk playing at her lips “Alright, Jess, you do realize that windows work two ways, right?”

She threw a sparing glance back to the diner where they were mostly hidden by the darkness that one street lamp provided. The lot was mostly empty. He slid to a stop by his side of the door, both of them climbing into the truck as it groaned and creaked under their weight.

“Jessica and Jesse,” He spelled out in a long breath as he turned the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering against the cold.

“Your wedding invitations are going to be terrible.”

“I think we’ll name our kids Jessabelle and Jessina”

Beca snorted at this, shaking her head as the truck fell into silence. She could smell the burger and fries that he had tossed into the backseat, just waiting to crawl up to his room and devour it away from the rest of the family. He probably had a last-minute assignment to figure out or one that was due last week.

She shifted uncomfortably, scratching at her right forearm with absent attention. Jesse cast his pale gaze over once or twice, headlights of passing cars moving against his stare. “Is your arm bothering you again?”

“It’s itchy.” She grumbled, staring at the large houses that whirled by. They were decorated for a holiday that wasn’t coming up anytime soon- not for another 20 days at least. But the same lights and banners had been hung up since before Thanksgiving. She was just happy that Jesse liked the silence of a car better than cheesy Christmas songs. “The soap bothers it.”

Jesse was trying to bite his tongue.

He always seemed to have something to say about the scar on her arm- a burn that had healed in a darker tone than the rest of her skin; it again, made her thankful that she didn’t really recall how she had gotten them, but she knew it had to hurt. They were numbers, almost like a typed machine singed them into her flesh, so perfectly molded like a tattoo.

Beca had grown used to them by now, used to the teasing and the names that she used to be called. She remembered sitting on the counter in the upstairs bathroom. She had cried until her throat was raw and her cheeks were stained red. Melissa found her like that, wrapping her in a comforting hug and pulling her close. _“_ _It_ _’_ _s part of who you are, one_ _”_ she had whispered, rocking her until she was lulled into sleep.

“You don’t want to figure out why?”

“I know why it itches, Jess, the soap they use is shit.”

Her tone was low, she knew that wasn’t the real purpose of his question. The answer would have been “No.” Strong and firm. If her childhood was bad enough to be taken out of it so violently, then she had no reason to seek for the person who had burned numbers into her arm. It would be too painful.

“Do you want half of my burger?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
